


This Love

by Raggedy_man



Category: Bodyguard (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Grief, Healing, Julia Montague Lives, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 10:50:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19271746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raggedy_man/pseuds/Raggedy_man
Summary: Snapshots of the timeline of David and Julia, inspired by Taylor Swift's This Love.





	This Love

**Author's Note:**

> Thought I'd post this one-shot whilst I'm working on my other multi-part fic. Might not be the best quality. Was just a late night drabble.

* * *

  _Clear blue water_

_High tide came and brought you in_

* * *

 

She remembered that first day like nothing else. The weather was fairly mild for mid-October, just placid enough for her not to need a coat, and the usual chill that hung about her Mayfair flat had subsided noticeably. The wind was a little harsher on her though, whipping her hair about her eyes so furiously that she almost missed the curb and had to throw her various items onto the white leather of the car before she fell. It didn’t help that a new addition to her security detail had been arranged without her knowledge or input either, some fresh-faced and annoyingly eager millennial she presumed. She’d also burnt her toast that morning, forced to eat the charred remains of something that you maybe could have called bread, once upon a time, but that now had the texture of a brick and the taste of stale coal. All of these things, and the permanent feeling of foreboding that came as a side effect of her job, had only built on her usual level of underlying irritation.

That’s why, when strutting out of her ministerial car and smiling reprehensibly at the various security staff, she coldly regarded officer Knowles and almost missed the outstretched hand of a Scotsman with eyes so blue she thought they belonged in the Ionian sea rather than in this dreary borough of London.

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I was wondering if we could discuss you using the underground entrance from now on?” He spoke, her oddly dreamy state barely registering his gentle voice.

And though he’d tapped on the glass of her stoic expression, his presence wasn’t enough to shatter it and his words, which only worked to irk her more, were met with an icy glare and lips pursed so tight she had to force her next sentence out.

“I’m late for a meeting.”

Her features dropped to a sly smirk as she walked away, leaving him nearly speechless and her feeling like she ruled the world.

If her life were a pebbled shore, right then it was high tide, the fruits of her labour almost within reach and the many fish that swam about her waters heading right for the end of her hook. Julia Montague was the most powerful woman in Britain and she knew it. Nobody, not even David Budd, could drag her from her throne of control.

* * *

  _Skies grew darker_

_Currents swept you out again_

_And you were just gone_

* * *

 

Her body was so limp, so uncharacteristically fragile as it burned out before him. She was covered in the debris of a stage that was flaming with a fire so raw it sparkled in her eyes like a cruel beckoning of life. She was still awake, her eyelids fluttering with desperation and her gaze never leaving his. He scrambled to her, checking her pulse then checking again, softly caressing the side of her head to let her know that she would never be alone, not even in a moment as isolating as this. They wouldn’t let him join her in the ambulance and so he ran, chasing after the sirens until he nearly collapsed at a zebra crossing.

He didn’t arrive at the hospital until the following morning, anxiously observing the BBC’s report on the incident and listening in to any conversations that penetrated the small waiting area. He knew she was dead the moment Rodger Penhaligon marched into the hospital. It only became real when he heard a soft sorry escape the consultant’s lips.

For months after, his dreams were of her. Sometimes they showed her bloody body pressed against the remains of St. Matthew’s conference hall and other times they were of her breath on his neck or the soft touch of her nimble fingers tracing lazy patterns on his mangled back. The latter were always much heavier: the thought that he would never get to see her like that again following him for the remainder of the day.

His only comfort was found in the idea that her last thought was possibly of him, the man that loved her so furiously but that would never get to tell her. He wished he’d stopped her. Held her in the green room for just a little bit longer. Kissed her and told her that he would make the choice to be beside her. Told her that he would stick by her no matter what. But he didn’t. And he would have to live with that forever.

“Did you love her David?” His therapist would ask him later, prompting an extended silence that screamed at him to tell the truth. He’d said it in his mind a million times but telling someone else would make it real. Did he really love Julia? Or did he just mistake the weight of her coffin for something deeper?

The skies of London grew eerily dark as he stepped from Dr Heany’s office and out onto a street that was now lined with twinkling lights and a thin layer of ice. She’s gone. He repeated to himself.

* * *

  _In silent screams_

_In wildest dreams_

_I never dreamed of this_

* * *

 

White. Searing, scorching, piercing. 

Her eyes strained at the fluorescent bombardment of the room’s tiled ceiling. She could feel a dull ache in the back of her skull as hushed conversations and light beeps of machines materialised in her reality.

“David.” She sighed, rolling her head to the right where a presence lingered between her fingers.

“No dear it’s Rodger.” The presence replied with a look of disgust only half matching the expression that was now painted on her face. She yanked her hand away swiftly, feeling dirty that this manipulative monster had wheedled his way back into her life.

“Get out.” She ordered, her face turning blank and hands meeting to rest over her blanketed abdomen. Luckily, the message was received, his overindulged form slinking out of the door as another man strode in.

“That wasn’t very nice Julia.” Another unmistakeable voice chimed in.

“Do be quiet mother. I have a headache.”

“That’s to be expected after what you’ve been through Ms Montague. Dr Riley.” A balding but kind looking man came into view, reaching for various buttons on a monitor beside her.

“Your injuries aren’t as severe as we had initially thought, however, you do have a pretty nasty break in your collarbone and your spleen hasn’t taken too kindly to the explosion either.”

Explosion. There was a bomb. A flood of images was pulled from the depths of her mind, the sound of her heart hammering against her chest blocking out the list of injuries being thrown at her. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t breathe. All she could do was shake.

“Just breathe Julia. It’s a panic attack. You’re fine, you’re safe.” She heard as the mist started to clear and her usually rational thought process was reinstated.

Panic attacks would become a regular occurrence for her, silent screams of desperation being drowned out by thoughts so dark only one other person had shared them. She’d thought about it. Taking as many painkillers as she could swallow and drifting away. If she couldn’t be with David then what was the point? The explosion had stripped her of everything she ever had: her home, her job, her few friends and him. So why should she continue when she had nothing to continue for?

Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined not being in control and yet, here she was, having her life dictated to her and roaming the streets of London, undercover, like some criminal or midnight assassin. She wanted him back and she wanted him now.

* * *

  _Lantern burning_

_Flickered in my mind_

_Only you_

_But you were still gone_

* * *

 

Their eyes met in the low glow of a dying sun, the heat from her townhouse enveloping him like an old friend and loosening his muscles enough to give her a shy smile. She glanced down at his boots which slid against the tile of the entranceway, February snow dancing in the air and settling on the fibres of his coat. This wasn’t the first time they’d met since he’d been informed of her status but it was the first time he’d plucked up the courage to actually talk to her.

“You’d better come in.” She said kindly, wrapping her cardigan around her slim frame tightly. “It’s quite chilly out there.”

He nodded in agreement and followed her inside, shutting out the cold behind him.

Her new home was much more welcoming than her old, various candles burning in the background and pictures of friends and family adorning most surfaces. She had crocheted throws on the sofas and a Victorian fireplace that filled the room with a sense of safety. Unlike her flat, she filled this home. She belonged there. He asked her about a few of the images she’d had framed and she happily recounted stories from her adolescence to him as he watched her, intrigued by the vulnerability that she reserved only for him.

He understood that nothing was her fault and she understood that nothing was his. They’d laid all of their cards on the table and decided that what they had was much more important than any of the politics or power games. Anger no longer had a hold on them.

She looked different too. Her hair was now straight and just past her shoulders, her neck and chest were now sprayed with angry red marks and her hazel eyes were much duller than they used to be. She wore her suffering like the armour she never knew she needed. It shielded her from her own insecurities and allowed her to stand broad-shouldered next to the love she’d fought hell and earth for. He regarded her changed appearance with such admiration that, for the first time, she felt like Julia the woman rather than Julia the victim.

He’d moved in not long after that and his children had fallen just as in love with the ex-politician as he had.

* * *

_In losing grip_

_And sinking ships_

_You showed up just in time_

* * *

She was nervous. Her chest heaved and her hands shook as she waited patiently in the front of David’s car, his hand resting on her thigh and his voice humming along to whatever was on the radio. They’d been together for a year now. They’d celebrated birthdays, a Christmas, Easter and even a holiday to Nancy last August but going public was bound to be difficult. It had been announced yesterday that Julia was, in fact, alive and that she had been in hiding whilst a major terrorist ring was taken down. The story was false of course, she could’ve emerged from her bubble the moment she’d reconnected with David but she was selfish. She liked it being just them.

But, here she was, waiting for the new PM to give her the nod and allow her to address the British public outside of No 10.

Once upon a time, this was where she wanted to live. This was where she felt she belonged. Now though, it made her skin crawl and all she wanted to do was run.

“Ms Montague will give a brief statement now.” He said and she swallowed the lump in her throat, trudging into the view of the camera. She positioned herself behind the podium and looked out at the bewildered faces that pointed cameras and microphones at her.

“Hello. I would like everyone to know, before we start, that this is the only statement I will be making. My death was staged so that the government could better keep the public safe. I supported this decision fully whilst I was in recovery and I still support it now. I have decided to step down as Home Secretary and also to retire from public life completely. With regards to my relationship with Mr Budd, we are well within our rights to be together and are very happy.” She started, looking over her notes and swallowing once more. “We are also delighted to announce that we are expecting our first child together and are very much looking forward to being a family. We ask that our privacy and the privacy of David’s family be respected and that the media allow us to recover together from the horrific events of last year. Thank you.”

He smiled widely at her as she returned to the side, his arm winding around her shoulders and guiding her away from the onslaught of questions that various journalists threw her way. She placed a hand on her very noticeable bump and breathed deeply as they both got back into the car and he whispered lines of pride at what she’d just done.

She was almost 35 weeks pregnant with their daughter. She’d been a complete accident of course, but a happy one. He was thrilled, she was petrified, but together they decided that they’d make it work.

The worst part had been the pre-natal depression. Thankfully, her doctors had diagnosed it quickly and she was able to receive counselling and support for that as well as the anxiety disorder she’d gained from her various assassination attempts. David too suffered terribly from PTSD in the beginning. He’d been on the slow road to recovery and was now stable enough that he felt confident starting a family with her. The only real problem he faced was the massive guilt that he was unable to be the man he was now when Charlie and Ella were born. They had been his only reason for living for so long and he wanted them to know that they would always be his kids.

* * *

_This love is good_

_This love is bad_

_This love is a light back from the devil_

_These hands had to let it go free_

_And this love came back to me_

* * *

Her flushed skin had contorted, flooded blue eyes squeezing shut and gazing up at Julia with an uncertain mosaic of emotion. She had reached out, grasping at what she must have thought were tiny stars twirling like ballerinas in shards of hospital light. In reality, they were just specks of dust that had been disturbed by her arrival here, but to Grace, they must have been beautiful: a pocket-sized supernova, springing out of nowhere and settling on the white floor, just for her amusement.

She arrived on the 14th of March 2020 to her mother’s tears and her father’s bewilderment. Grace they called her. Grace Budd.

David had commented on her dark curls the moment she was born, whispering to Julia that she was definitely her daughter and getting a sarcastic response in return about how she’d literally grown her for nearly nine months. He did the same thing when their second daughter, Lucy Budd, arrived, however, she was more dirty blonde than brunette.

The girls only had an eighteen month age gap with Lucy being born on the 23rd of September 2021.

David would often reflect on the events that brought him to this place, on the love he thought he'd lost but found again in the strangest of places.

* * *

_This love left a permanent mark_

_This love is glowing in the dark_

_These hands had to let it go free_

_And this love came back to me_

* * *

A wedding, two children and three dogs later, their family was finally complete. Julia Budd hadn’t had a burnt slice of toast since that first day and she finally felt truly powerful. 

 

 

 

 


End file.
